Captive
by The-London-Bridge
Summary: Sam Winchester finds himself taken prisoner by a supernatural, powerful figure. What does this monster want? Will Sam make it out alive? And why does the monster take such good care of him? AU Dean/Sam HEAVY SLASH Rated M   more summary inside!
1. Those Green Eyes

**Thanks for checking this out! This will be a pretty intense SLASH story, Dean/Sam but they are not brothers here. Later on there will be some S&M Bondage, lots of torture, and it is actually a romance. Yep, that's right. A romance. Don't think I can pull it off? Let me know! Read and Review!**

**Summary: Sam Winchester, a young man with a bright future, fiance, and a loving family. However a dangerous figure has taken notice of Sam, and has him locked in his sights. Taken prisoner, Sam endures the punishments, the torture, all the while trying to escape his attacker and return to Jess and his family. But what happens when the dark stranger shows his true colors, beautiful colors? Will Sam want to go back to his old life?**

**Now then, onto the story!**

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><p><strong>November 1st 2004.<strong>

It was a dark night; the air was chilled with the crisp, clean breeze of fall. Trees had shed their leaves, though a few brown, dry crowns still clung to the bare branches. Fighting to hold on against the wind, before breaking away and tumbling slowly to the ground like all the rest. It had always been one of Sam's favorite seasons, the colors: reds, yellows, oranges and browns, the heat of summer finally lifting. The holiday season not far off, Sam was looking forward to seeing his parents again after a long semester at Stanford. But there was a small air of sadness as he walked back to his apartment. He'd be away from his friends, his life here in Palo Alto, California for three long months.

Sam had worked hard to get where he was; his father, a Navy man, had constantly moved the small family around when Sam was growing up. Sam swapped schools usually twice a year, sometimes more, but never less. He had always been the 'new kid.' No friends, not for very long at least, and no place he could ever adjust to well enough to call home. But he always kept his grades up, knowing he could have a future one day if he worked hard enough- his mother had told him that. And she'd been right. He had a full ride scholarship to law school at Stanford. He had Jessica, his fiancé and the love of his young life, hell he even had a part time job at the coffee shop down the street from the campus.

But he could already see the proud smile on his parent's faces. And he knew that being back with his family would make the three months away from his new home, his friends, Jessica, all so much easier. It was Halloween now, or was, yesterday. And Sam had gotten himself talked into some stupid frat party at one of the fraternity houses. Not that he was against the occasional party, but he was never really big on Halloween. So though he went, he didn't dress for the occasion. Dark wash jeans, a grey t-shirt under a white button down. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His somewhat messy hair framing his face as he walked down the street back towards his apartment.

He'd left the party early, knowing he had an interview with the dean in the morning, or, in five hours and thirty eight minutes, to be more exact. He thought to himself, as he looked at his phone for the time, _'I'm going to be so dead tomorrow, it's not even funny.'_ Sam picked up his pace, not from fear or anything of the sort, but in a hurry to get home so he could crash into his bed for a few hours before getting up and scrambling to make the interview. Though if Sam had any idea of what had been following him for the past two blocks, he should have been terrified.

The young man made it home, unknowingly sentencing himself to a horrible fate. Literally, leading the monster right to his front door. Sam stripped out of his clothes, flopping down on the bed to try and get some sleep. He was almost asleep, the alcohol and exhaustion really taking its toll once he was laid down on the soft silky sheets. The house was quiet, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the wind rustling the curtains being the only sound in the room. Sam's eyes snapped open, looking over at the window across the room, the curtains blowing freely in the cool breeze. Sam was certain he hadn't left the window open. His hazel eyes scanned the darkness in the bedroom, not hearing or seeing anything he got up, closed the window and latched it.

Crawling back into bed he got himself comfortable once more, at last dozing off into some much needed sleep. A pair of beautiful green eyes watching him the entire time. The shadowed figure stepped closer to the bed, tracing his fingertips over the side of Sam's face. Watching him with a certain adoration, almost love in its eyes. The large hand reached out, brushing a lock of Sam's hair back from his face, leaning down and inhaling the sweet wonderful scent that radiated from his skin. It would be impossible to tell what woke Sam, be it the touch to his face or that feeling of someone being right over you, but something startled him from his sleep. His eyes opened, staring up into almost glowing green eyes, even in the darkness their color was flawless.

Sam panicked, swinging his fist hard and connecting squarely with the figure's jaw before he rolled out of his bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud as he struggled to get to his feet. Fists raised he looked back to where the shadowed figure had been standing, silhouetted against the pale glow from the window. There was nothing there; he slowly put his hands down, his face showing the obvious confusion as he scanned the room over once more. Reaching over and turning on the light, the pain in his hand became apparent. Looking down at his hand there was a small cut on his knuckles, from striking a tooth when he swung at the figure. A deep fear sunk into him, he hadn't been dreaming, someone was in the house.

Sam grabbed a baseball bat from behind the door and crept slowly to the closet. Jerking the doors back there was no one there, nothing there but his and Jessica's clothes. Turning around once more to face the rest of the room, the curtains danced freely in the cold wind. The window was open, wide open. Sam shivered, a nervous tingle running down his spine as he closed the window and latched it back. Looking out through the glass for a long moment, watching for any signs of movement in the yard before he grabbed his cell phone, and called the police.

**November 4th 2004.**

The small cut on Sam Winchester's hand was pretty much healed. But the small mark reminded him all the time of what had happened that night. The police thought he was just drunk and imagining things. There had been no finger prints, no sign of forced entry to the window. Though Sam claimed it had been opened, despite the lock being closed. And no foot prints through the yard to or from the building. Jessica was sympathetic of course, doing her best to comfort Sam while not indulging his fear someone had broken into the apartment and was watching him sleep, touching his face. She didn't really believe him either. But Sam knew he wasn't insane, or drunk and seeing things. He'd hit something, hard, when he swung his fist. And those green eyes, they haunted him constantly.

Pure green eyes, how they seemed to glow- emitting their own light in the dark when he could see nothing else but a black outline of the figure. But Sam tried his best not to think about it. He was doing his all he could to put it behind him, and look forward to seeing his parents again. Next weekend he would be taking an 8 a.m. flight out to Lawrence, Kansas where his mom and dad would be waiting for him at the airport. Mary and John Winchester, despite the rather crappy childhood Sam had he loved both his parents. It wasn't his father's fault he was moved around so much. And his mother, she'd always been so loving, giving her only son everything she could to make him happy. They'd done well too; they'd raised a handsome, intelligent, and kind young man. At the age of 22 Sam was hardly a boy anymore.

Though even the brief relief of thinking about his parents couldn't shake the green eyes from his head for long. Every time he closed his eyes he saw them. Every time he left his house he could swear they were watching him. He'd even woken up a few times in the night feeling that powerful presence standing over him. And every time there was no one there, nothing there. Jessica would stir some and silently, unconsciously cue Sam to lay back down and get some rest. But the feeling wouldn't go away, not even in his sleep. He didn't talk about it anymore, once he told Jessica he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and she'd patted his arm, hugged him against her and told him everything was alright. He never said another word about it.

At the moment Sam was sitting at the kitchen table in his one bedroom apartment. Jessica was in the shower, he could tell by the sound of water running behind the closed door. Flipping his laptop closed after deciding he was far, far too distracted to get any work done on the last paper of the semester, Sam got up and went to the small living room. Grabbing a beer as he walked past the fridge before flopping down on the couch; and then turning on the TV. After a few moments of sitting there, starring blankly at the news, trying his best to get interested in something, an odd sound reached his ears. Sam muted the television quickly, sitting up straight on the couch as he listened. Even holding his breath to try and catch the noise again.

A soft and gentle crackling, almost soothing to listen too. After a second Sam realized what it was. A fire. The young man was up from the couch instantly, rushing to the kitchen and stopping quickly. The wall diving the bedroom and kitchen was burning, but not entirely a blaze. A pattern of flames danced across the wall, just behind the chair he was sitting in only moments ago. Sam raced to get the kitchen fire extinguisher, the smell of smoke now filling the room up quickly. His hands found the small extinguisher, where it was always kept, on top of the fridge, and he sprayed the white foam all across the wall.

The fire went out easily, and Sam stood there, his chest heaving with each breath as he studied the damage to the wall. The foam drained down to the floor slowly, and as it did, black burned marks showed themselves on the paint. A chill of fear ran down his spine, his hazel eyes looking at the scene before him, but not at all wanting to believe what he was seeing. 'YOU'LL BE MINE.' The flames had burned into the wall, spelling out the short, three word message that put Sam on the brink of tears. He was just sitting there, in the kitchen chair with his back nearly pressed to that wall. How had it just caught into flames that way?

A cold gust of air washed over him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Sam shivered, looking over his shoulder to the wide open window. The green-eyed figure, he'd been here. Just now. But Sam had a certain sense the figure was no longer in the house, that pressing, powerful aura was gone for the moment. A tear rolled down Sam's cheek as Jessica emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her waist and a very worried look in her soft blue eyes. "Sam?" She followed Sam's fixed gaze to the wall and gasped. "Oh my God, Sam." She moved closer to her fiancé, putting a hand on his chest as she looked at the wall along with him. Jessica seemed to be more rational than Sam for the moment though, grabbing the phone from the living room and dialing 911.

**November 12th 2004.**

After the fire Sam had been pretty much a nervous wreck. Jessica did her best to calm him down, after the fire, and she gave him a bit more credit when he told her he felt like he was being watched. But there was nothing she could do. Sam's usual bright, smiling personality was gone, and it frightened her to see him so terrified. The feeling of being watched hadn't let up a bit, those green eyes, he could still picture them perfectly. Only now each time he closed his eyes he saw the flames lapping behind those emerald irises. That was why they had glowed the way they did, he was sure of it. The figure was filled with fire.

Jessica tried to talk some rational sense into him, assuring Sam it was just some weirdo. They'd gotten an alarm system put in the house, and for the next two days after the fire the police had sat out front of the building, watching for anyone suspicious coming or going. But no one saw anything. Of course not. Sam was alone tonight, occupying himself with packing for his flight in the morning. He hadn't told his parents about what had been happening. But he was so glad to be able to get away for a while, three months, in Kansas. Three long, stalker-free months. Certainly the shadowed figure couldn't find him there. Those green eyes couldn't watch him there.

Jessica had left that morning, leaving their small apartment on the Stanford campus to go and visit her own family. Sam assured her he'd be fine for one night. He was flying out in the morning after all. Sam was folding up his jeans, making sure they were nice and flat before laying them down in the large black suit case. Grabbing the next pair from the large chest of drawers he turned back to the suitcase. Seeing the curtains dancing about in the breeze sent a chill down his spine. Sam froze, his hands gripping tightly onto the dark denim jeans. His knuckles bleeding white.

That familiar presence flooded over him, strong, intimidating, powerful. He trembled as he stepped back, intending to put his back to the wall so no one could sneak up on him. As he backed up, expecting the dresser to be behind him he hit a warm, hard body behind him. Sam froze once more, his chest rising and falling heavily, frozen in fear. The only sound in the room was the clock ticking and the pounding of Sam's heart in his chest. A strong set of arms wound their way around Sam's middle. Pinning Sam's arms securely at his sides. The young man dropped the pair of jeans in his hands, his jaw clenched tight. "Let me go, and leave me alone." He said firmly.

A shiver ran up the young man's spine as he felt warm breath at the back of his neck. The dark figure nuzzled his face in the back of Sam's neck, inhaling deeply the sweet and wonderful scent. "Don't be afraid beautiful, I would never hurt you." A deep voice whispered softly in his ear. Sam pulled hard against the intruder's grip around him, but it felt like those arms were steel bands, and they didn't give at all. The figure behind him laughed softly. "Come on now, you didn't think I'd let you leave me Sammy? You're mine, I can't let you leave." It spoke, the voice low and calm, and strangely not as threatening as Sam had imagined it would be.

None the less he struggled, throwing his head back to try and hit the other in the face. He missed though, and one hand let go of him long enough to grab a cloth from the figure's coat pocket. Bringing it up to cover Sam's nose and mouth, he held it firm despite Sam's struggles. Slowly the fight drained out of him, those hazel eyes fluttered close and then, at last, his knees grew weak. The dark figure caught him with ease, lifting up the boy from the floor before vanishing with Sam into the night. No signs of struggle, no signs of forced entry, no finger prints, leaving the alarm still armed.

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	2. My Name's Dean

**Re-uploaded this to fix a few mistakes. Sorry if it caused any confusion with the flow of the chapter. Please, let me know what you think! OH, and I will be adding a day to the first chapter as well, so check back to see it! I'll let everyone know once its up. Thanks!**

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><p><strong>November 13<strong>**th**** 2004.**

The world was dark and spinning rapidly. Or at least, that's how it felt in Sam's head. He had no idea where he was, or what happened, but as he began to come to the blurry world of consciousness he realized he wasn't at home. He wasn't in his bed, nor on his couch. Sam opened his eyes only to find himself unable to see, that shock of blindness woke him quickly. His head snapped up from where it had been hanging down, now he could feel the heavy black cloth tied over his eyes. He felt the rough ropes binding his wrists to the arms of some chair, a hard chair. Trying to kick his feet he found his ankles bound to the legs as well, and the pressure across his chest told him torso was securely tied down as well.

He began to panic, pulling franticly against the ropes. Hard enough that his wrists began to sting as blood welled up along the edges of the cuts that dug into his skin. Sam didn't care though, he had no idea where he was or even how long he'd been there. The last event he could remember was being grabbed in his apartment. But he sure as hell knew he was getting out of this. _'Sick son of a bitch psycho freak monster.' _Sam cursed to himself, not wanting to make too much noise. From what he could hear, he was alone, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone knowing he was awake and trying to get away. No, the best approach to this was silence. There was a long moment of dead silence, and then he felt it, the feeling that had become such a familiar plague. Those eyes were on him, and he quickly froze in his spot.

A gentle hand ran down the side of his face, and Sam quickly turned and snapped his teeth, trying to bite the hand away. He missed, but his point was still made clear. A light chuckle met his ears and he could tell the figure was standing over him, his face only inches apart from Sam's as the thing's warm breath flushed over his cheeks. "Sammy, be sweet or I'll have to cover the pretty little mouth of yours." Sam thought quickly on his feet, well, metaphorically speaking at least. Without warning he spit in the stranger's face, and then smirked as he felt the figure lean away from him. The next sound in the room was a resounding smack, as the large hand that had just touched him so gently slapped him hard across the face.

Sam's head now forcefully turned to the side, his cheek already reddening, was then jerked back straight as something was shoved into his mouth. By the taste of it, it was rubber. And it forced his jaw open and was then buckled securely behind his head. Sam struggled, trying his best to rock from side to side as much as he could; the figure still had a firm grip on him, pulling the hair on the back of his head to hold him still. "Now Sam, I asked you to be sweet. And you weren't. That is why I had to put that in your mouth, you understand?" The deep voice asked, and he could feel the warm breath washing over his face once more. It smelled of mint, and whiskey.

Furious, humiliated, and more than anything terrified, Sam turned his head away, not wanting to let the figure be that close. The gag in his mouth muffled his speech, and he could do nothing but groan around it as he felt that touch brush along his jaw line. Tucking a stray lock of hair back behind Sam's ear, the voice spoke again in the darkness. "Now, I'll take this blind fold off of you, alright? I miss those beautiful hazel eyes." He spoke, his voice calm and soft, as if he was trying to lessen the panic in Sam's mind. It didn't help at all, only served to terrify him more as he felt the black cloth being lifted off his face. Blinking his eyes open, he was met with those burning green ones. Such a beautiful color, how on Earth could they belong to someone so evil?

A new round of fear and a new round of struggling erupted in Sam, he nearly flipped his chair over trying to get away from the man. He was a man. It was no demon from hell or pale, hazy ghost, not even a monster. It was a man, a normal-looking man. Short blonde hair turned up in the front, a strong jaw line with a fair bit of stubble across his face. His captor grabbed Sam's forearms and the arms of the chair, holding it, and Sam, still. "Hello Sammy, my name's Dean. I am so glad to meet you face to face." He said, "Well, I mean, without being punched this time of course." Dean's brilliant green eyes studied Sam's fearful expression, watching the muscle in the younger man's jaw clenched tight on the red rubber ball in his mouth. It hurt Dean to see that fearful look in Sam's eyes. It truly did pain him.

But Dean knew, in time, Sam would lose that fear. And hell, he had all the time in the world. Leaning back away from the young man, the blonde glanced over his shoulder to the table in the small cabin- that was the best Sam could do to describe it, it looked like a cabin, a hunting cabin in the middle of the woods. _'Great, just fucking great.'_ Sam thought; no one to hear him scream. On the worn wooden table behind Dean sat a tall glass of perfectly clear water. Dean looked back to Sam, smiling gently. "You thirsty? I can give you a drink, if you can promise me you won't spit on me again." Sam saw his opportunity in this, hesitantly, he nodded in head in agreement, and Dean moved away to get the water before returning.

The gag was taken off for a moment, letting it hang loosely around the young man's neck as Dean tipped the water up to his lips. Sam honestly drank at first, he had to admit he was thirsty, but before the glass was done he took in the last mouthful and spit it all right back in Dean's face. Dean dropped the glass to the floor with a loud shatter, his hands coming up to wipe the water from his eyes and face. Sam threw all of his weight to one side, trying to snap the ropes that bound his arms but ended up only tipping over his chair. Landing hard on the ground in a pile of broken glass, Sam groaned painfully, and resorted to the only thing he knew to do at this point.

Sam screamed as loud as he could, "Help! Somebody please HELP!" But Sam was cut off quickly, as Dean recovered from the water in his face and was over Sam in an instant, delivering a hard blow to the side of Sam's face, and then another squarely to his stomach. Dean's fist was clenched tight, his knuckles pure white as he struggled to catch his breath from his anger. Forcing the gag back into the young man's mouth he stood up, leaving Sam lying on his side, still securely bound to the chair. Out of sheer anger he kicked Sam in the face, hard, pissed off with the sheer lack of obedience. Then he stormed out of the room, leaving the boy alone.

**November 14****th**** 2004.**

Sam had no idea how long he had been left lying there on the floor. At first he was just willing to lay there and recover from the hard blows. But the gag prevented him from working his jaw, which felt like it had been popped out of place. So that pain never really let up. He realized quickly this was more humiliating than he first thought. A trickle of drool ran down the side of his face and slowly pooled on the floor under his cheek. He could do nothing to help it, the gag in his mouth made it impossible to close his lips. And pressing his tongue down flat, it made it very hard to swallow. And the worst part was he was quickly developing the pressing need to use the bathroom. Drinking that tall glass of water may not have been the best idea.

Hours, it felt like, he laid there, no sound in the small cabin what so ever. Just Sam's own breathing, and his heart beat. As he sat in the silence, trying to hear anything he could, the faint sound of water running reached his ears. It sounded like a stream or a water fall. His eyes scanned the room in front of him, but he couldn't see much, a worn table, one wooden chair that looked like the one he was strapped to. A fire place sat to the right of that, and then empty wall. He knew that there was a lot of open space behind him, but he couldn't turn his head far enough to look. Sam fought for a long time against the restraints, leaving deep bloody gouges in his wrists. But being tipped on his side like this he couldn't do much.

_'God please, I know I'm not a saint but I have never asked you for anything, please, please, get me out of here. He's going to kill me. Help me God, I need it. I'll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life, just please, please just save me. Save me from this freak. I want to see my Mom and Dad again. And Jessica. Please God, help me.' _Sam prayed over, and over again, hoping for some small miracle to get him out of this alive, and relatively unharmed. The last cries of a desperate man.

The pain in his bladder was quickly growing far too much to bear. And, against his will, but out of his control, his body couldn't take it anymore. Now he was forced to lie there, in pain, in a puddle of urine and his own drool. Tears streamed down Sam's face, his eyes closed tight as he sobbed around the gag in his mouth. When Dean returned, free of anger now and very guilty for hurting his Sammy, he was greeted with the pathetic sight and horrible stench. Without a word he got down, lifting Sam's chair back up right, ignoring the groan of pain from the younger man and the look of fear in his eyes. Sam's heart beat picked up quickly, unsure of what beating he would get this time, he tried to plead with Dean, but it was nothing more than a muffled groan.

There was no more anger in Dean's face, or in his eyes, not right now at least. "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't mean to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you." He whispered softly as he began unbinding Sam's ankles. But before Sam got any sharp ideas Dean paused, looking him level in the eye. "I'm going to help you get into the bath, alright? Do not, fight with me." The older man's voice held a sharp note of authority. And for once Sam wasn't planning on escape, not at the moment at least. He wanted nothing more than to wash the urine from his skin and be out of these disgusting clothes. A bath was exactly what he wanted.

Dean snapped a pair of hand cuffs onto his wrists once he freed him from the ropes, not missing the deep bloody marks there. Sam flinched at the hard metal on his sensitive wounds, and it hurt Dean a lot to see his beautiful Sam so upset, so hurt- and he was being unusually gentle for the moment. Slowly he helped Sam stand, the poor boy's breath was still catching sharply in his throat, tears still running down his face as he choked out tears around the rubber ball in his mouth. Dean held onto Sam's shoulder, as the young man's knees were obviously weak; as Sam stood his legs almost gave out from under him. Dean caught him though, and guided him across the little cabin's main room and into the bathroom. Standing, Sam noticed Dean was a few inches shorter than himself, not that it at all offset the other man's authority as he followed him, trying to calm down the pounding of his heart and the sobs that were threatening to spill out.

Once they got to the bathroom, Sam had attempted to compose himself some. Watching as Dean turned on the water, filling the large, claw-footed tub. Then his captor turned back to look at Sam. He looked like a mess, a pathetic mess, as those green eyes studied over him slowly. The side of Sam's face was wet with spit and tears; there was a large dark urine stain on his jeans, not to mention his hair was a disheveled knot. Large bloody marks stained the smooth skin on his wrists from struggling against his bindings. Dean frowned, stepping closer to his Sammy and tore the shirt from his body carefully. Not in an aggressive way, though it still scared Sam as Dean took the shirt, and literally tore it in two right up the sleeves, so that it could be removed over the handcuffs. Then Dean unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off, along with Sam's boxers.

This brought on a whole new wave of tears as he stood there, closing his eyes, totally exposed in front of Dean, the monster that was keeping him prisoner. He tried to cover himself as best he could with his hands, but he could still feel those burning green eyes on him. Only when he felt the gaze pull away did Sam open his eyes, seeing Dean's back facing him, as the man pulled out of his own clothes as well. It only terrified him more, Sammy backed away, trying to reach for the door to run when Dean grabbed hold of him firmly. Though his harsh grip loosened when Sam flinched with pain and he spoke, "No no Sammy, don't do that. Just relax, I'm not going to hurt you." The deep, rough voice whispered to him, causing Sam to cringe and shut his eyes as that mint-whiskey breath washed over him.

Sam was afraid of another beating, there were already dark bruises formed on his stomach and the side of his face from the last time he'd pissed this man off. So when he felt those large, strong hands pulling him gently towards the tub, Sam followed Dean's guidance. Dean got in first, leaning back at one end and slowly tugging Sam in as well. Sam sank down into the warm water, his back leaning against Dean's chest as he felt those two, strong arms wrap around him for a moment. Dean nuzzled his face into the back of Sam's neck, enjoying being so close to his beautiful Sammy; Sam kept his eyes closed tight, tremors wracking his entire frame in fear. He felt Dean stir behind him, turning off the water.

The next thing he felt was a warm, wet cloth running along the side of his face. It washed over his forehead, then his cheeks, moving up Sam's jaw line before dipping down his neck and scrubbing lightly at his skin. "There you go Sammy, you'll feel a lot better after this." Dean's voice was quiet, and Sam could once again tell he was trying to be soothing. But it didn't stop the nervous trembling, or the tears from running down his face. "I am sorry for leaving you there alone yesterday. You're new to this, you didn't understand the punishment, and I know that." Dean continued, but Sam made no response. _'Yesterday? I've been here that long?' _Sam thought, only now getting the idea of just how long he had been left there, lying on the floor.

Sam was lost in thought, trying to block out the entire world around him. The warmth of the water was soothing, but the feel of the other man's well muscled chest pressed to his back, his head leaning back on Dean's shoulder, it unnerved him. It wouldn't let him forget the situation he was in, wouldn't let him escape those haunting green eyes. The boy didn't respond to anything as Dean washed him clean. But the sharp sting of pain did break him from his terrified daze, as Dean gently scrubbed his wrists, cleaning the dried blood away. Sam picked his head up, looking down to see Dean's arms reaching around him and with the most gentle of touches, washing over the cuts.

That show of kindness, it really touched Sam, though not like Dean had hoped it would. It didn't do anything but confirm to Sam that this man was a serious psycho on a fucking insane mental break down. Definitely someone would be looking for him from the Institution right? It had to be all over the news, _'serial killer and rapist escaped from lockdown today, FBI manhunt scouring the country.'_ Little did Sam know Dean was hardly a man at all, nor was he wanted by any law enforcement. Sam blacked out for quite a while. Exhaustion, starvation, the sheer trauma of it all, his beaten body couldn't cope.

**November 15****th**** 2004.**

When he came too, the room was dark. He couldn't see a damn thing as he blinked his eyes, trying to focus. He was lying on his back, his arms spread out to either side of his torso. Whatever he was laying on was soft, warm, and he could feel a sheet over his lower half. A bed, he was laying on a bed. Opening his mouth to let out a short groan he realized his mouth was empty. A feeling of relief washed over Sam; maybe it had all been a horrible dream- a very, very horrible dream, a true nightmare. Sam sighed with gratitude, and then he tried to sit up. As he did a sharp pain shot through his wrists. He tugged some, but found quickly he was bound. Each arm wore a padded leather cuff, chained to the head board of the bed.

Instantly the panic set back in. Sam pulled as hard as he could, the pain not even bothering him anymore. He had to get out of here; he would never survive if he couldn't get away. Sam collapsed back to the bed, his chest heaving from exhaustion and fear. "Help! Somebody! Help me!" He screamed as loud as he could, though his voice was hoarse and cracked on each word. As he fell silent again, stopping his screaming, he felt that gaze on him. A weight sunk down on the bed, and he tried to get as far away as he could. But those glowing green eyes came into his view. Sam's heart felt like it would jump from his chest as he stared up at Dean in fear.

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	3. Your Favorites

**So sorry everybody for the delay. Work has been insane and left me very little time to write. I have not given up on this story! Please let me know what you think. Also I will be re-uploading this chapter and the others in a while to fix some edits. This is the FIRST draft of this chapter, I did not even proof read it, just to get it up faster for you guys. So sorry for any errors.**

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><p><strong>November 15<strong>**th**** 2004.**

Sam laid there on his back, as if he had any choice in the matter, the terror obvious in his hazel eyes. Dean's strong presence was bearing down on him; it felt as if the sheer weight of the world was pressing down against the young man's chest. Sam trembled in fear, he felt like he couldn't breathe, like he would suffocate under Dean's aura. And, as if Dean could read the thoughts running through his head, he ran a gentle hand along the side of Sam's face. His hands were unusually warm, so was his breath as it fanned over Sam's neck. "Breathe little Sammy, it's alright." Dean whispered to him, and the young man gasped in a breath of crisp cool air, only now realizing he had truly not been breathing.

"What do you want from me you sick son of a bitch?" Sam asked, his voice tight as he felt the sharp sting of tears burning in his eyes. His jaw clenched tight, gritting his teeth together and trying to hold a strong resolve. In the dark, he couldn't see anything but those shining green eyes, yet he could somehow feel that Dean was smiling down at him. He could somehow sense the softness and the adoration in those eyes as he was studied closely, and after a moment, all of that softness and care was coursing through his veins. He could feel that pressing, powerful aura filling him with that sense of care, and devotion. But none the less, he was terrified.

"I don't want anything but you Sammy. I've waited so long for you, my entire life I've been waiting Sam. And now I have you, that's all I will ever want." Dean cooed back to him. Sam shivered visibly, to Dean's keen eyes at least, as Dean's full lips brush against his ear when he spoke. Those glowing green orbs, shining as if they truly did emit their own light, could see perfectly in the pitch darkness. Dean could see every fine detail of Sam's handsome face; where Sam was left blinded. Sam jerked his head to the side, struggling, pulling once more against the cuffs on his wrists.

But this only seemed to please Dean more, as Sam felt the other man's body hovering so close over him, nuzzling his face into the side of Sam's neck. Dean hummed low in his throat, a sound that brought another shiver up Sam's spine, as he basked in the wonderful, sweet scent of his Sammy. The young man was trembling now, under the touch of his captor, fear coursing wildly through his veins. That deep voice broke the silence in the room again, getting another sharp flinch from Sam as that mint-whiskey breath flooded over him.

"My baby boy, try and relax. I wont hurt you, I am so sorry for what I did before, you didn't understand the rules and therefore didn't deserve the punishment. I was just upset, that's all. It wasn't your fault." A tear rolled down Sam's face, running down the side of his cheek until it landed on the pillow, making a small, perfectly round spot on the fabric. Sam shivered again, gritting his teeth from the feeling; the distinct brush of a long, slow kiss to his neck.

"Please, let me go. Just let me go and I won't tell anyone what happened. I just want to go home." Sam pleaded with the other man once more, only to have a finger placed gently against his lips.

"Shh, it's alright. Get some rest my beautiful. I'm going to make you something to eat in the morning, and then we'll talk, alright?" Dean answered him, in the same rough, soft tone. Sam could almost feel it in his chest, the deep vibrations of Dean's voice, as their bodies were hardly an inch apart. And then just like that, the crushing feel of power was gone. Dean was gone, leaving Sam alone in the darkness as he quickly fell to tears. Sobbing silently, with his eyes closed tight. Sam repeated his prayer for help, over and over, into the deep silence.

**November 16****th**** 2004.**

Sam wasn't sure what time it was, or hell, even what day it was when he woke up. He hadn't even been aware he'd fallen asleep, but apparently he had. As he blinked his eyes open, and into focus, a soft green light flooded into the room from the window to his left, giving Sam a chance to look over the place he had spent the night in. The bed sat in the center of the room, against one wall, a door sat directly across from him, closed. Hard wood floors matched the dark, bare wood paneling of the walls. _'This is definitely a cabin.'_ He thought to himself. '_I'm probably miles out into the woods in the middle of fuckin' no where.'_

A small table sat to the right of the bed, an older looking lamp with a pale yellow shade and the red rubber-ball gag sat upon it. The sight of the rubber ball, his teeth marks embedded deeply into it brought back so many fresh, raw memories, but he forced himself to look away. At the far end of the room sat a worn wooden chest, it looked old, but Sam paid more attention to his large black suit case that lay on the floor beside it. Sam looked to his wrists now, still bound to the head board of the bed with dark leather cuffs. Now he could see the padding under them, thick gauze pads were bandaged around the self-inflicted wounds on his wrists.

Sam sat in silence for a long moment, his ears straining to hear any other signs of life in the small cabin. But the only thing to reach his ears was the merry chatter of birds outside. Their sweet songs so contrastingly different from the horrible nightmare Sam was living. Glancing out the window, the slant of the land told him clearly that they were in the mountains somewhere. Sam listened to the little birds sing for a long time, his eyes starring out the four-paned window at the green leaves of the trees, fighting back the tears trying to well in his eyes. He refused to cry anymore, no, if he was going to get out of this alive, he had to stay strong.

But his newfound resolve crumbled quickly as he heard the door click and then swing open with a slow creak. Dean came in, a pale grey t-shirt covering a flawless, well muscled chest. Dark wash jeans hung low on his hips, and in his hands, he carried a white wooden tray. The smell of food hit Sam next, along with that powerful presence that Dean seemed to carry with him all the time. Sam's face flushed red, as his stomach made a loud, long rumble in response to the sweet smell of maple syrup and bacon. Dean only smiled as he came over to the bed were Sam was helplessly bound, and set the tray down on the edge of the bed. The younger man couldn't help but look over at the array of food that sat upon it.

Waffles, three of them, laced over with sweet maple syrup and honey. Eggs over medium with a bit of black pepper sprinkled over the top, just the way Sam liked. A generous side of bacon and a tall glass of milk sat beside a long-stem vase that held a single, beautiful, red rose. Swallowing thickly, Sam looked up to Dean, who was watching him with care and content. Dean reached over, and Sam closed his eyes tightly, only to feel Dean fluffing the pillow under his head before speaking.

"Good morning beautiful. I know you're hungry. I made your favorites." Dean spoke softly as he sat down beside Sam on the bed, pulling the tray into his own lap.

"Get the hell away from me, now, you sick freak." Sam said firmly, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrow as they opened to look up at the other man. He was determined not to let his man get the pleasure and satisfaction of seeing him cry, or seeing that fear well up in those beautiful hazel eyes.

"Sammy, I want you to eat, and then if you want me to leave you be, I will." The man replied, his tone just as soft and gentle as it was before Sam had thrown those insults at him. Sam looked from Dean to the tray of food, he couldn't deny he was hungry, but he didn't want to degrade himself by taking food from his captor like some kind of dog. As if Dean knew what he was thinking, he spoke again. "Darlin' I hate having to keep you locked up here as well. But until I trust you won't run from me, it has to be this way. Please, eat."

Dean took the clean silver fork from the tray, cutting off a small bite of the waffles with the side before holding it out to Sam's lips, waiting for the poor boy to open his mouth, though Sam just clenched his jaw tight. "Come on Sammy, you need to eat." Dean pleaded, and as if to second that, Sam's stomach growled loudly. Reluctant, and degraded as he was, Sam gave into his hunger, and opened his mouth- taking the first bite of warm, freshly baked waffles. And it was wonderful, sweet, and buttery. After that he ate as quickly as Dean would feed him. And for a few minutes, he forgot exactly what was going on, forgot the bindings on his wrists, the fact he was held against his will, all of it was gone as he focused on the food. His favorites, cooked exactly how he liked.

Sam was jarred out of his momentary reprieve when he opened his mouth for another bite and no food came. Glancing over at the tray he realized the plate was empty, he'd eaten everything, and finished the tall glass of milk. Snapping his mouth closed, he looked up at Dean, his eyes hard, and cold, trying to mask the fear and vulnerability he was feeling. Dean smiled, brushing his hand along the side of Sam's face. "There, that has to feel better. Sammy I would love to let you get up, and come watch a movie in the living room. Will you behave yourself?"

It took Sam a moment, did he take the offer and behave himself? No, he'd get himself untied from this bed and he'd beat Dean into the ground. He had to get out of here. Or at least that's what his mind was screaming as he hesitantly nodded his head, and watched as Dean slowly released his wrists from their bindings. Though only for a moment, before he locked the two leather cuffs together in front of Sam's body. Dean helped Sam up, a guiding hand on his shoulder as he led the young man out into the living room. Sam sat down on the far end of the sofa, his heart racing in his chest as he tried to decided on what he would do. Should he try and run?

His thoughts were cut short as Dean sat down close beside him, flicking the TV on with the remote before putting his arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling the young man close against his side. Sam shivered, though Dean was incredibly warm, too warm, he wanted so badly to lean away, to kick and bite and scream, to get away from here, as far away as he could. But Sam did nothing, paralyzed either by fear, or by Dean's overwhelming, overpowering aura of care, and softness, and love?

The TV was on in the background, and Sam's eyes stared at it blankly. Though his ears could only hear the intense pounding of his heart and the thrum of his pulse, and his mind was focused solely on Dean's closeness. He couldn't ignore the warmth of Dean's body that pressed against his side, and the distinct feel of Dean's soft, smooth lips against his neck. Dean trailed slow, soft kissed up Sam's neck to his ear, before nuzzling his face against the side of Sam's head, breathing in that wonderful, distinct scent of his Sammy.

Sam sat frozen, afraid that if he moved he'd be killed. Dean on the other hand, showered him in kisses and soft touches, his hands tracing up and down the hard muscle of Sam's bicep, simply trying to get him to relax. After a long moment, Dean let out a small sigh, both arms coming around Sam, and shifting with him so Sam leaned back against his chest. His fingers stroked lightly through the young man's hair as he spoke. "I know you're scared Sammy, I know you want to go home. Believe me, I understand. And I understand we need to talk about a lot of things. Just, try to relax Sammy, and I'll explain everything."

Slowly, Sam forced the muscles in his body to loosen, forcing his jaw to unclench as he nodded his head some, his eyes still locked on the TV, though his mind was a million miles away. "Fine then, explain yourself." Sam said his tone sharp and rough, brimming with tears as he felt another kiss to the top of his head.

Dean hesitated a moment before responding, "First of all-"

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